


time, and then again

by greatestheights



Series: A Collection of Prompts [8]
Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Wishful Thinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 16:53:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4487349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greatestheights/pseuds/greatestheights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s clutching his beer, the ache he’s been ignoring for the past two days shuddering impatiently in his chest. What it would be like, to kiss Donna in the middle of a sentence, no matter who was watching? What would it be like to look at her without hiding a goddamn thing?</p>
            </blockquote>





	time, and then again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deandratb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deandratb/gifts).



> Prompt: "Jealous kiss."

Maybe he’ll never get to kiss her again. 

The thought strikes Josh like an open fist, just after he finishes his second beer. Santos is laughing in the courtyard at the Capitol Grand, his arm wrapped loosely around Helen’s waist, and he stops halfway through his  _thank you for all your hard work_ spiel to look at his wife, to study her as if it’s for the first time. To say, his voice laced with something raw and genuine, “Helen—there aren’t words. I wouldn’t have made it a day on this campaign without you or your support. I’d never want to share this madness with anyone else.” And as the sun dips down below the D.C. skyline, the Congressman kisses her right there in front of everybody. The staff cheers. Josh has to turn away. 

Santos starts talking again, something about  _win or lose_ and  _the time of my life_ , but Josh isn’t paying attention. He’s clutching his beer, the ache he’s been ignoring for the past two days shuddering impatiently in his chest. What it would be like, to kiss Donna in the middle of a sentence, no matter who was watching? What would it be like to look at her without hiding a goddamn thing?

Josh sets down the empty bottle, closes his eyes, and then she’s right there, cheeks flushing pink, beaming at him, and his hands are on her face, and he doesn’t care about eight years of trying (failing) not to want this, to want  _her_ ; he doesn’t care about the late nights in his office, how she’d sit across from him, hair twisted up, pen at the ready, and take notes or read off his schedule or let him just talk at her. He doesn’t care that sometimes he’d look at her—at night, or first thing in the morning, or on his way to the Oval, or in the mess just before lunch, or anywhere, really—and he’d catch her looking back, how their eyes would meet and this thing would pass silently between them, and Josh would pretend to himself that it didn’t mean anything at all.  _She’s smart. She’s beautiful. It’s normal to think about her,_  he’d tell himself.  _It’s normal. That’s all it is._

Except, two mornings ago, Josh hadn’t cared about normal. It had been an accident, that first kiss, but the second had been like—like oxygen. Essential, inevitable, and so very far outside the realm of normalcy that Josh might never stop reeling from it. “It was bound to happen sometime,” Donna had told him later, but Josh had been too busy reliving her mouth opening against his, her arms tightening around his neck, to process what that meant. He’d still been processing when she pushed the key across the table, and then he hadn’t picked it up fast enough, and she’d stared at him through the glass, her eyes locked angrily on his. She’d turned away, disappearing off to her room, leaving Josh with only his own terrible timing and the growing certainty that he was never going to get this right.  _Bound to happen sometime,_ he’d thought, and that night, he hadn’t slept. He’d just lain there under the scratchy hotel sheets with the pillow pressed over his face, wanting her. Wanting all of her.

And maybe he’ll never get to kiss her again.

Josh opens his eyes. The crowd’s dispersing, back to drinks and dessert. It’s probably the last free night they have before the election, and this little thank you party the Santoses have thrown them appears to be as good an excuse as any for the entire staff to get trashed; it’ll be a miracle if anyone shows up for the mandatory scheduling meeting at seven tomorrow morning. Josh watches Otto and Bram do shots of vodka at the bar, his stomach churning in protest, feeling ever single one of his forty-five years. The music hums softly in the background, and Josh’s gaze flickers over towards one of the fire pits. Donna’s talking to a lanky junior staffer, some twenty-eight year old with all of his hair and a smarmy grin. This kid leans into her, one hand on her bare arm, while Donna tilts her head and grins up at him, brushing her hair over her shoulder so that it flashes in the low, twinkling lights. Josh can only watch. He doesn’t have the right to do anything else.

But then, when the kid’s hand trails down to Donna’s elbow, Josh grits his teeth so hard it actually hurts. He stops thinking about what he does and doesn’t have the right to do and starts moving.

“Hey,” he says, skidding to a halt in front of them. The kid lets go of Donna’s elbow instantly, his face paling.

“Mr. Lyman,” he says. “Um, hi.” Josh ignores him.

“Donna,” Josh says. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“About what?” Donna asks coolly, folding her arms.

“There’s a thing. Media-related.” Josh swallows.

“A media-related  _thing_ ,” Donna repeats. The kid scratches his ear, his eyes cutting from Donna to Josh uncertainly. Josh scowls at him.

“Would you just…you know?” Josh jerks his head in the general direction of the overhang he’d been standing under, and stalks off without waiting for her.

“Josh,” Donna calls, catching up with him more quickly than he’d expected. “What was that about?”

“I told you.” He glances around, and motions her towards an alcove just around the corner. They can still hear the chatter from the party, but they’re alone here, beneath a string of lights and a tree with startlingly orange leaves.

“Fine,” Donna nearly sighs, turning to face him fully. She’s wearing this dress Josh has always liked, a shimmery blue one that seems to float around her. “What’s up?”

“Uh.” He averts his eyes, trying to come up with anything remotely related to the media. There’s gotta be something.

“If this is about the figures in the  _Times_ feature again, I don’t have any updates for you. I called Jennings with the corrections, and—”

“It’s not about that,” Josh cuts in. “Actually, I guess it’s not about work. Not exactly.”   
  
“Okay,” Donna says, squinting at him. “What do you guess it’s exactly about, then?”

“I don’t know. I just—what’s with that kid?”

“What kid?”

“The gangly one who was, I dunno, putting the moves on you.”

“You mean Cole? He’s been doing a great job for us on rapid response.” Donna’s face darkens. “He’s perfectly nice. Well-qualified, even: top of his class at UT. We were just having a conversation, Josh.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s all it was,” Josh mutters, and regrets it immediately. Donna arches an eyebrow, crosses her arms again.

“So, explain something to me,” she says tightly. “Why do you even care who puts the moves on me? I mean, you’ve barely said two words to me for the past couple days. You’ve barely even lookedat me. What the hell am I supposed to do with that?”

“I don’t know.” Josh runs a hand over his forehead.

“Right,” Donna says, staring off at a spot somewhere over Josh’s shoulder. “Well, if you ever figure it out, you know where to find me. If there’s nothing else, I’m going to apologize to Cole, and then I think I’m going to bed. I have to be up at four to catch the flight to Chicago.”

She’s starting to turn away, and maybe this is it, maybe she’s done, maybe Josh has found yet another way to lose her. Maybe he’s never going to get to kiss her again. In a burst of desperation, Josh grabs for her. He catches her hand, pulls her back to him so quickly it surprises both of them. As if it’s been waiting, the wind picks up, lifting Donna’s hair off her shoulders.

“I’m bad at this,” Josh whispers, taking a step closer. His thumb slides down over Donna’s wrist. “I’m bad at this, and I’m sorry. But I keep thinking about the other morning, I keep thinking about  _you,_ and I don’t like—I don’t like it when anyone else flirts with you. I never have. God, I really don’t know. Maybe I’m just never going to stop thinking that I’m your boss, and we can’t do this…except it’s different now, right? It’s different.”

“Yes.” Donna’s voice is quiet, but steady. Josh can feel her breath against his cheek.  

One of his hands finds her waist, and he ducks his head, presses in closer until their noses are almost brushing, even though they’re standing fifteen feet away from approximately eighty of their tipsy colleagues, and the press is definitely lurking around somewhere outside the hotel.

“I like this dress,” Josh says.

“Funny. Cole said he liked it, too.”

“Of course he did.” Josh snorts. “What else did he say he liked?”

“None of your business.”

“I bet I can guess.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Donna says airily. “He was pretty creative.”

“Remind me to fire that guy,” Josh says, and kisses her before he can talk them both out of it.

Donna’s fingers rake through his hair until they slide down the back of his neck, and Josh can’t decide what to do with his hands, doesn’t know where he’s allowed to put them, and then they’re stumbling backwards against the nearest wall, and she’s tugging at the knot of his tie, and he’s sliding the strap of her dress aside, and it’s only when they draw back to gasp for breath that they both realize exactly where they are.

“You have the worst timing,” Donna complains. “The  _worst._ ”

“I know,” he says.

“We’re not even going to be in the same state again until Halloween!”

“I know.”

“And then the election. There’s not going to be time for anything else.”

“I know.”

“And this is complicated. This is…this is something. But—”

“Donna. I know.”

“I kept thinking you might never kiss me again,” Donna tells him.

“Well.” Josh shrugs. “It was bound to happen sometime.”

Donna laughs, surprised again. The wind is turning dramatic now, swirling around them in a rush of those orange leaves. Later, Josh thinks he’ll close his eyes and remember it like this: Donna’s hair whipping across her face, the warm color rising in her cheeks, the uncomplicated way this complicated thing is coursing between them. He thinks about all the moments like this one he’d wasted, for reasons that both mattered and didn’t. He thinks about all the moments like this one that maybe he’ll get, the ones he never wants Donna to have with anyone else. The ones he doesn’t have the right to.

In a minute, Josh knows his phone will probably be ringing, and Donna will have to go to bed, and the next month has to be about nothing but winning the election. In a minute, this is going to fizzle into bleary reality, into polling details and bad coffee. In a minute, Josh will be back to wanting her, instead of having her.

A minute. A minute of Donna’s mouth opening against his, a minute of her arms tightening around his neck, of the leaves fluttering down around them, of Josh’s hands skimming across her hips. A minute where nothing in the world (smarmy twenty-eight-year-olds, timing, excuses, puritanical American workplace ethics) will have time to get in their way.

A minute. Maybe two. Maybe an entire future full of them.

Josh leans back in.


End file.
